The Withering

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The white morning glory flower was too bright for society's satisfaction,
It was spoiled by humanity’s progress,
For it blocked the simplicity of the suns rays,
And replaced it with the ascot blue shadow of the buildings that overpowered it.

For the Morning Glory knew it only had a normal life span of a year,
And the deadly appearance of the shade will limit its life more.
The antique silver light the flower now wears grows old,
For it knows the sun's warmth is now a distant memory.

The Morning Glory begins to slowly wilt in despair,
It's stem bends, and pedals wither,
He now knows his time is very brief;
By this time tomorrow he will be whisked away under winter's blue grey sky,
To only be another of an endless number that fell because of humanity's progress.






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